


Lines

by SociopathicArchangel



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, one more thing before the newest episode gets released and kicks me in the throat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-31 22:59:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SociopathicArchangel/pseuds/SociopathicArchangel
Summary: “Can you see the lines?”-set in the same universe as Playthings, although the first scenes happen a little earlier





	Lines

**Author's Note:**

> written on May 14, 2017; 11:12 pm  
> i'm ready for episode 108 to kick me in the throat when it comes out

“Can you see the lines?” probably wouldn’t be the best thing to say, since Kevin doesn’t really have eyes, but Palmer wants to ask anyway. This Night Vale has a sky, and all he’s seen of it is from the window their town is currently placed beside. The positioning is considerate, but Palmer squints and tilts his head and tries to make sure he’s seeing actual lines in the sky instead of just dust smears or rain tracks on the glass.

So far he’s been unsuccessful. Nobody from this Also-Night-Vale has said anything about lines yet, not even the Scientist, although Palmer reckons he knows. He’s a Scientist, after all. They’re supposed to study things like that.

Then again, are there lines in this Also-Night-Vale? Maybe those exist only in their town. Or used to exist, anyway. These skies are not cloudless or moonless. They’re certainly lineless, but not empty.

Palmer isn’t sure how he feels about that.

“Lines?” Kevin asks when Palmer brings the topic up to him. The radio is on in the other room and Palmer’s deliberately gotten Kevin to talk to him away from it. Thankfully, the man doesn’t seem to mind.

Kevin crosses his arms as he leans back to think. Palmer shifts on the pillow he’s sitting on. It’s humming some soft guitar tune.

“I can’t say I remember,” Kevin says, then adds, softly to himself, “Not that I remember much after _that_ particular mess. Nasty re-education. Good riddance, I say.” He straightens and uncrosses his arms, relaxing. “From my memories that _are_ intact – you know, before the whole takeover deal – I’ve never once heard about lines in the sky. Or reported about them.”

Kevin is not from Also-Night-Vale, Palmer’s learned. He’s from another town entirely, one that majority of Also-Night-Vale’s citizens appear to be hostile against. He doesn’t really know the whole story, but from what he knows, Kevin’s town was destroyed too. By a cruel smiling god and a tyrannical corporation.

Palmer thinks about the Scientist, and his perfect hair; with teeth like a military cemetery, and his perfect smile.

His town has their own smiling god, he supposes.

“Sorry I can’t be of more help,” Kevin says.

“It’s okay,” he says, trying not to hunch in further.

“Although…” Kevin pauses; looks at Palmer as if asking for permission. Palmer nods. “This town’s Steve Carlsberg might be of help. He’s a bit of a theorist.” A corner of Kevin’s lips move up. He should smile more, honestly. It suits him. “Not that this town appreciates theorists too much.”

Palmer shifts and tries to make sure he’s breathing normally. He’s only ever seen Also-Steve once. He hasn’t talked to him yet.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Kevin turns to him. Palmer barely manages to make his vision focus and he’s sure he startles when he turns to face his town’s guardian. “Cecil?” The lines around Kevin’s not-eyes soften. “Are you okay?”

Palmer doesn’t answer for a while. When Kevin extends a hand, he almost immediately clambers onto it, curling up and leaning his side against Kevin’s rough, bent fingers. Cecil thinks of being seven and getting his fingers broken when he’s too clumsy with the bookshelf – he’s positive this is what broken fingers not set properly feel like.

But Kevin’s warm. Kevin doesn’t ask too many questions. When he does, he knows just which to ask.

(Of course he does, he’s a Voice. Just like Palmer – just like what Palmer’s all ever known to be.)

“What’s he like?” Palmer finally croaks. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, not that time has meaning here.

“This town’s Steve Carlsberg?”

He nods.

He doesn’t miss the small smile on Kevin’s face again, the sort people get when remembering a funny memory. “He loves his family,” Kevin says.

“You don’t know him that well?”

“No,” Kevin says, “Sadly.”

Palmer nods again. “Thanks for being honest, at least.”

“I don’t quite like lies, I’ve found.”

Another nod. Palmer pulls his sweater closer to him. It’s bigger on his frame than should be. It’s thick. It’s still cold.

* * *

 

When Also-Steve stops by, he’s loud and cheery and nearly scares half the town to death until Kevin (sort of panics) pulls him aside and explains a few things to him. When Palmer asks Also-Steve about the lines (he’s sitting on a pillow that’s laid on Kevin’s lap because, to be honest, he’d probably start crying if he was alone while talking to a giant with the face of his best friend in front of him, very much alive and very, very happy), Also-Steve gets excited (squeals a little) and starts making animated motions with his hands while discussing his theories and a few things about the government here and there.

There’s another person here who can see the lines, he says. A former intern of this town’s Cecil.

“Did you have lines in your town’s sky too?” Also-Steve asks, big smile still on his face.

Palmer nods. “Ste… _my_ Steve Carlsberg – our town’s Steve Carlsberg – saw them too.”

At that, Also-Steve’s eyes light up. Palmer remembers nobody except maybe Kevin has met all of the town’s residents.

“Can I talk to him?” Also-Steve asks.

Palmer’s sure Kevin’s slowly closing his eyelids. He doesn’t look away from Also-Steve when he says, “He’s dead.”

* * *

Kevin takes them out to see the stars and the sunrise and the sunset, and Palmer looks and looks and looks.

He tries to stand on Kevin’s shoulders or even straight up sit on his head. He lies down on the hood of the car and squints. He tilts his head. He tries looking through the lens of enormous binoculars.

Kevin finds him by a window one night, shaking, hands clenched so tight his nails have dug through half-moon marks and made him bleed. When Palmer turns he can barely see Kevin’s face through his tears.

“I can’t see them,” he whispers, “I can’t see the _lines.”_

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: aseraphfell.tumblr.com  
> twitter: @LeviticusAW  
> youtube: https://www.youtube.com/user/kageroujo


End file.
